


A Piece of Cake

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [109]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castle Steward!Markus, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff, King!Hank, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prince!Connor, Simon is a disaster gay, Stable Hand!Simon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, markus is extra, there's not that much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Simon Detroi is a stable hand under the Andersons, a father and son, that rule over their kingdom fairly and wisely. He has a steady job, friends that he works with, and he gets to spend all day around the animals he loves.Now if only he can figure out why the castle steward makes him want to dissolve into a puddle, he'll be fine.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Simon & Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [109]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	A Piece of Cake

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse
> 
> lemme know if you want more of this AU???

Fandom: DBH

Prompt: “Rumor has it, I make you nervous.”

* * *

“The King and the Prince wish to ride this afternoon,” the stable master says to Simon, “saddle their horses.”

“Yes, sire,” Simon says, bowing his head.

The stable is always the quietest in the morning because the horses are still on edge from the night and the morning’s watch hasn’t broken the dawn yet. So Simon can clearly hear his footsteps outside Creole and Inka’s stalls. Hank prefers Sumo because he is gentle yet steadfast. Connor likes Inka because she has a temper that is as protective as it is faithful.

He spends time grooming each before carefully tacking each. The smell of the leather and the clinking of the stirrups is soothing, a familiar hum in the air as the rest of the land wakes up.

“Sir Detroi! Already up and about, are we?”

Simon’s fingers fumble and the fastenings drop to the ground with a loud clang. He turns around, head bowed.

“Sir Manfred.”

The castle steward waves a dismissive hand at the formal introduction. “Oh, come, Simon, you needn’t be so formal. There aren’t any laws that state I deserve them.” He raises an eyebrow. “Though I do not object if you want to continue.”

He winks as Simon reddens. In order to avoid further embarrassment, Simon bends to pick up the fastenings. But when he reaches for them, another hand knocks his away and picks them up instead. He glances up to see Sir Manfred offering the fastenings in his hand, kneeling on the floor of the stable. Simon blushes again when he realizes the steward’s positioned himself in imitation of a proposal. He takes the fastenings and fixes them to the saddle. He feels a pair of hands settle themselves on his shoulders.

“Whoa, hey, shh,” Sir Manfred says, stepping back in appeasement as Simon whirls around, startling Inka. He pats her neck in apology as Sir Manfred backs away. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Is there anything else, Sir Manfred?” He needs to _leave._ The stable is Simon’s sanctuary. Somewhere he can go when he needs to breathe away from the castle’s formality. When he needs to be safe from other people.

“There’s a dinner I’m to supervise when the Kamski officials come next week,” Sir Manfred says quietly, “and I need to have someone with me when I do. Will you help me?”

Simon thinks for a second. Sir Manfred is right, there needs to be a member of the common people in the hall, and Simon knows the most about court manners. Of course, the Andersons don’t care much for procedure when it comes to internal matters, which is why the meals are open doors so the common people can come as they please, but when others come, unfortunately, it must be done.

Simon nods.

A grin spreads across Sir Manfred’s face. “Thank you, Simon. May I see you tomorrow night, then? I’d like to practice my hand at formalities. It has been a while since I’ve had to entertain guests.”

Is he asking for a private audience? Instinctively, Simon clutches Inka’s mane. The mare bows her head and wraps her neck around his left leg. He continues stroking. Sir Manfred is asking him to a private audience. He’s asking Simon to help him practice. People are so complicated. Why do they need _manners_ of one type more than another? Animals are so much easier; treat them with kindness and respect, and they will do the same to you. People are so _complicated._

Which is probably why Simon agrees to that too.

“Wonderful,” Sir Manfred says, catching Simon’s hand. He tightens his grip as if to shake but then Sir Manfred lifts it and — Sir Manfred _kisses_ Simon’s hand. He looks up at Simon and gives him a smile. “I’ll wait for you.”

With that, he leaves.

Simon looks at the hand Sir Manfred kissed. He turns it over. It’s a common hand, covered in dirt and callouses, and belonging to someone who has little interest in being a noble. The idea of being courted doesn’t alarm him, but…the idea of being courted by Sir Manfred is…laughable, to say the least. Sir Manfred is the type of person who can smile at someone and have them waiting outside his chambers in the next hour. The type of person to wink and have the hearts of many in that instant. The type to flirt and charm all and to truly devote himself to none.

And that’s all this is. All it has to be.

He realizes he’s been absentmindedly stroking Inka’s mane and Sumo leans his large head over and nudges his shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches up to pat her nose too. She nickers. He shakes himself out of his daydream and finishes tacking. He leads both horses out into the courtyard in time to see the twins come down the path from the castle with Alice in tow.

“Hello, Simon,” the prince says, taking Inka’s reins, “thank you. How are you?”

“I’m fine, sire,” Simon replies, “thank you for your consideration.”

The prince rests a hand on Simon’s shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure and lowers his voice. “Are you alright? You seem shaken. Did something happen this morning?”

“No, sire,” Simon says automatically, “I’m alright.”

The prince frowns but doesn’t ask anything else about it, for which Simon is immensely grateful. Instead, they talk about caring for the horses and preparing the stable for the coming changes to the seasons. When they break, the King is already mounted and waiting patiently for his son. Simon helps the prince onto Inka and waves them off. As they trot to the path out of the city Alice turns to him.

“So, what happened this morning?”

Simon smiles. Say what you will about Alice, but she’s very perceptive. One can only lie to Alice if she trusts you enough to let her guard down. And Simon will _not_ betray that trust.

“The dinner for the Kamski officials requires a commoner as part of the traditions,” he explains, “and I am the only one who knows the traditions and manners intimately enough, apparently.”

Alice shrugs. “You know more than me.”

Simon takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “We both know the manners are a bunch of horse manure, Alice. I just happen to be an expert.”

It makes her laugh and Simon smiles with her. They keep hold of each other’s hands as they walk back towards the castle. “There needs to be someone there. I’m glad Connor asked you.”

Simon smiles down at Malwen, it’s like he can’t stop. She’s so close to the prince and the princess, to most of the court, despite her bringing-up outside the Anderson Kingdom. Like the kingdom’s darling.

“He didn’t,” Simon corrects, “the prince didn’t ask me.”

“Then who did?”

“Sir Manfred asked me,” Simon admits quietly, absent-mindedly fiddling with his fingers. “He asked me this morning.”

“Is that all he did this morning?”

Simon blushes. “He…kissed my hand.”

Alice gives the hand in hers a squeeze. “Is that such a bad thing?” When he doesn’t answer, she stops them before the castle steps and sits them down. “Simon, has he hurt you?”

“You needn’t be so protective, Alice,” he admits, “he’s just flirting.”

“Flirting, yes, he does that quite well,” Alice mutters, “with _everyone._ ”

“Yes,” Simon agrees, twisting his fingers together, “he flirts with everyone.”

“And you’re worried because even though you _know_ that, you think you’re going to grow to care for him anyway.” At his look, Alice shrugs and gives him a sad smile. “I know a bit about that.”

“Even someone like me?” He can’t help the incredulous tone.

“Yes,” Alice says, snuggling up to his arm and laying her head on his shoulder, “even you. I quite like this belief that all forms of attraction are equal.”

“Me too.” He puts his arm around her shoulders and they watch the market bustle to life. _But I don’t think anyone else would fall for me as I’ve fallen for them._

He fools himself into thinking that’s a general statement.

Their cuddle on the stairs fortifies him as he walks to Sir Manfred’s chambers. It’s no different from dealing with a new horse, he thinks, learn what it needs him to do, do it, then let their paths diverge as needed. He doesn’t need to get attached.

He knows the _second_ he knocks on that door he’s going to get attached.

“Simon!” Sir Manfred says, a smile on his face, “I’m so glad you came. Please, come in.” He holds the door as Simon walks through.

There’s a meal set on the table, one place setting, and one jug of wine next to it. Sir Manfred beckons him forwards and leans against the edge of the table.

“Now, I have to confess,” the steward says, smiling at Simon, embarrassed, “I’m not an expert in court manners. I work behind the scenes normally, so I need your help reminding me how this works. So,” he gestures to the table, “I was hoping you’d help me by letting me pretend to be a noble and telling me what to do?”

Simon knows what Sir Manfred’s asking. Humoring the poor stable boy by letting him play servant to the noble. The fact that he knows what’s happening doesn’t make it any less effective or make him want to agree any less.

“Simon?”

Simon blinks. When…when did Sir Manfred get this close? He’s looking at Simon and he—he’s—he’s so close Simon can feel the warm puffs of air on his cheek.

“Rumor has it,” Sir Manfred says softly, “that I make you nervous.”

_That’s one word for it, sure._

At Simon’s hesitant little nod, Sir Manfred gives him a soft smile that feels like warm morning rain on the stable roof. “Don’t be. You trust me, don’t you?”

So he nods.

Curses.

“Thank you,” Sir Manfred says, taking a seat at the head of the table. Simon positions himself behind the steward. “Alright, so…” He holds his hands out over the silverware. “Um, what do I do first?”

Is he…serious? “Put your napkin in your lap, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, right.” Sir Manfred puts the cloth in his lap then takes the goblet and tries to take a swig from it. He stops, then awkwardly shakes it. “This is empty.” He shrugs, then reaches for the jug.

“Stop, my lord.” Simon _just_ manages to stop himself laughing at how indignant Sir Manfred looks. “Nobles don’t pour their own wine.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous. They’re the ones drinking all of it.”

Simon allows himself a quick smile as he pours the wine and slides the goblet back towards Sir Manfred. The steward lifts the goblet to his lips. Then he pauses, cocks his head to the side, and holds the goblet up to Simon.

“I think you need to taste this for me.”

Simon blinks. “Um…”

“It is customary, is it not, to make sure something isn’t poisoned?” Sir Manfred blinks innocently up at him. “And I need to know this wine is fine enough for my noble tastes,” he adds in an overly pompous voice.

Of course. He hesitantly takes a sip and almost melts in satisfaction. “Gods,” he murmurs, then he catches himself. “It’s—it’s fine, my lord, it’s fine,” he stutters as he puts the goblet down.

Sir Manfred takes the goblet and raises it to his mouth, making eye contact with Simon as he drinks. “Mm,” he hums, “you must have exquisite taste, Simon, if this is merely _fine._ ”

He winks and Simon can feel himself blush. Sir Manfred looks to the feast in the middle of the table. “Am I to assume nobles don’t serve themselves as well?”

“Yes, my lord.” Sir Manfred huffs then throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“So be it.”

Simon takes a bit of everything and places the meal in front of Sir Manfred. “Here you are, my lord.”

The steward cuts a bit of the meat, considers it, then holds it out. “Taste.”

“My lord?”

“People can poison things other than wine, Simon,” Sir Manfred says softly.

And the thing is Simon _really_ does want to and there’s no real reason for him to refuse. So he reaches out for the fork, frowning when it’s pulled away from him. Sir Manfred smiles and moves the meat closer to Simon’s mouth.

“Open,” he instructs.

Simon splutters, but then Sir Manfred covers his hand with his and the protests die in his throat. He holds up the fork again. “Please?” And gods damn his heart but he can’t say no to that face with that voice.

He opens his mouth and lets Sir Manfred feed him.

“Good?” And Sir Manfred’s voice is soft and the food is delectable and his heart is in his throat and—

He swallows it down. “No poison, my lord.”

He thinks he imagines a flicker of disappointment on the steward’s face but it disappears when he eats a bit of the meat himself. He moans appreciatively, and Simon is sure he’s doing it on purpose because _no one does that_ and his suspicions are instantly confirmed when Sir Manfred winks at him again. He swallows the blush too because he knows this is just flirting and it doesn’t mean anything which is _fine._

It’s not, in fact, fine, but Simon doesn’t need to talk about that.

It takes him slightly too long to realize this is practically a date, with Sir Manfred feeding him the feast off his plate. He puts a stop to it when Sir Manfred tries to feed him a bite of the cake.

“Stop,” he says, pushing Sir Manfred’s hand away, “just, _stop._ ”

Sir Manfred pauses. “Is everything alright?”

Everything is most certainly not alright. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to eat this cake, right now anyway,” the steward says, “come on.”

And he smiles and Simon _wants_ to but he knows if he does he really is going to fall for Sir Manfred and he can’t do that to his heart.

“My lord, may I be dismissed?”

The fork clatters to the plate. “Leave? Why do you need to leave? Is there something wrong? Tell me.”

“I would like to be dismissed, please,” Simon says in the sternest voice he can muster right now, “and I would not like to have to give you a reason.”

“Well, if you give me the reason, I’m more likely to agree to it, isn’t it?” Sir Manfred stands, and it’s probably not meant to be intimidating but Simon steps back. He can’t let him touch him.

“I need to leave,” he says, and it almost comes out as a declaration instead of a plea.

Sir Manfred frowns. “Simon, I — “

“Let me leave!” This time it _definitely_ comes out as a plea. Sir Manfred freezes, hands raised in surrender again. Simon takes a breath to try and get his voice under control. “Let me leave, my lord. I have given you the assistance you requested, even though I believe you did not need it. I have fulfilled your order. Now I must leave.”

Simon squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not crying. He’s not. Sir Manfred is quiet. Then he feels a gentle hand under his chin and a soft cloth on his face. He opens his eyes to look up at the steward looking down at him with concern, wiping away the tears on his face.

“If you truly want to leave,” he says quietly, and there’s no mistaking the regret in his voice, “then of course you can leave, Simon. It was never my intent to order you here, and never to make you uncomfortable. Well,” he pauses and gives Simon’s chin a little squeeze, “at least not in this way.”

He finishes drying Simon’s face and drops the napkin onto the table. He turns back and tries to take Simon’s face in his hands but Simon steps back again. Sir Manfred lets him.

“Before you go, will you please listen to me? I just have one thing I want to say and after that, if you choose to leave I will not stop you. If you want me to stop flirting with you, I will. If you want me…” he trails off, hanging his head. Then he swallows and meets Simon’s gaze. “If you want me to leave you alone and make it so you never have to see me again, I will. I hate seeing you so unhappy.”

Simon takes a second to process what he sees. This isn’t the cocky self-assured steward he knows. This is a man repentant and regretful standing in front of him, asking for him to listen. He can do that safely, right? Probably? Not likely.

“I will hear you,” he says. Sir Manfred huffs and strides forwards, gripping Simon’s hands until he seems to realize what he’s done and lets go.

“No, Simon, I want you to _listen to me,_ please. Please,” Sir Manfred whispers, “listen to me, _really_ listen. Don’t just do that thing you do when I talk to you and you let it roll off your back because I _need_ you to understand this.”

Simon swallows. He nods slightly. Sir Manfred takes a deep breath.

“I care for you, Simon, I really do. It was not my intention to make you unhappy. I promise. I was trying to find a way to _show_ you that I care for you,” he says, waving carelessly at the table, “because I know you value actions over words. You’re not just another person to flirt with, Simon, not to me. You never have been. I…” Sir Manfred stops himself. Takes another breath. “I love you, Simon. I want to love you.”

A hysterical laugh bites its way out of Simon’s throat. “You can be surprisingly cruel with your teasing, Sir Manfred. I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“I’m not teasing Simon,” Sir Manfred blurts out, “I’d never do that to you. Not about this.” And the look on his face makes Simon want to agree to this but he _can’t_ but then — “and please, my name is Markus.”

“You’re a noble, Sir Manfred — “

“ _Markus._ ”

Simon sighs. “You’re a noble, Markus. You can’t be with a commoner like me. Due to the Love Principles — “

“You and I both know that’s not how the principles work. And even if it was, to hell with the principles,” Sir Manfred huffs, “and even if I didn’t say that, I’m no more noble than you.” He smiles ruefully and gives Simon a squeeze on the shoulder. “I’m just working somewhere else.”

Simon falters. He seems sincere enough and gods he wants to say yes but he wants more than just flirting and sex and he doesn’t know if that what he’ll get out of this but _gods he wants to say yes._

“Here,” Sir Manfred says, wringing his hands, “what about this? What if we try it for a little bit? Just a fortnight? I can show you what I feel and prove I care about you and then afterward, if you don’t want to be with me, then we can go back to how it was before? Or I can stop flirting with you all together?” The last words look physically painful for him to say but he grits his teeth and forces them to stay. His face softens again and he gives himself a pathetic little smile. “I promise I’ll respect your decision.”

He needs to stop saying things like that or else Simon’s not going to be able to make a choice. Just a fortnight. He can handle that, right?

“Alright. A fortnight.”

Sir Manfred's face lights up. “Is that a yes?”

Simon can’t fight the answering smile that spreads across his face. “It’s a yes.”

“ _Thank you,_ Simon.”

“Of course, S—“ Simon cuts himself off. “Of course…Markus.”

Markus’s eyes darken and he leans forwards. “Say my name like that again and I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you long enough to eat that cake.”

Simon stops him by pressing his fingers to Markus’s mouth and holding him at bay. He laughs at Markus’s pout. “I don’t know if I can kiss you just yet,” he confesses, “I don’t want my decision swayed.”

Markus _whines,_ like the dogs when Simon has to stop petting them and get back to work. So he appeases him. “I’ll kiss you at the end of the fortnight,” he says quietly, raising an eyebrow, “if you’re good.”

Markus blinks and Simon’s mouth drops open slightly as a bright blush spreads all over Markus’s face and neck, heat radiating onto his hand and fingers.

“I see why you do that,” he chuckles, “it’s quite rewarding.”

“Mm,” Markus hums against his hand, blush receding as his expression morphs into something much less innocent and his mouth opens and his tongue darts out to _lick Simon’s fingers_ with a look that says: ‘you know what else would be rewarding?’

But then he stops. “No. Fortnight. I can wait a fortnight.” He pulls away and picks up the fork again, offering the cake. “After you, my darling.”

The cake is _delicious._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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